There should be a rule against having an existential crisis before breakfast.
Is this even considered an existential crisis though?
“My ex is marrying the woman he cheated on me with, and they’re trying to use our business to fund their wedding.” I grimace as the words leave my mouth, the bitter taste of reality lingering on my tongue. It sounds like a cheesy line for a new romcom starring Jennifer Aniston, and . . . no wait, she’s more like my Aunt Mary’s age. Hmm . . . Who would star in my life if it were a movie? Zoey Deutch, maybe?
I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I don’t think anyone would want to be me. Not when my life is like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces scattered on the floor, and others missing. I’m left trying to figure out how to put it all back together.
I’m looking at my phone again. No, not just a glance, a full-on death stare. The screen lights up my face in the dimness of my too-quiet, overly-tidy apartment in New York. There, plastered across my social media feed, is Theo—my Theo, or at least he used to be until about six weeks ago when he told me he wasn’t marriage material.
Obviously, he had some kind of life-altering epiphany since now he’s engaged to her. I roll my eyes, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I imagine him suddenly discovering the meaning of life and true love in the arms of another woman.
He’s all smiles, hugging her, Marissa, my friend and first employee. Also, the woman who apparently seems to understand him better than me. Which is exactly why it’s no surprise to me that he started fucking her way before we broke up—unfortunately for them, I found out about their affair while my security guy was upgrading the cameras in the store. There were several videos of them doing more than just the inventory.
My jaw clenches as I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a flush of anger and humiliation spreading across my skin.
I hope Marissa understands that her new fiancé can’t keep his dick in his pants. Okay, I’m being petty, but how can I not be when the man I spent more than two years with is now getting engaged after telling me that . . . he couldn’t see himself being attached to just one person for the rest of his life?
I let out a bitter laugh as I read the caption under their cozy, engagement-photo smiles: “Excited to start our new journey as partners—in life and in LuxLumens, our bespoke lighting design venture.” Bespoke lighting designs. Of course. Because custom lamps are exactly what you need to overshadow the regularity of betrayal. I roll my eyes, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over.
Fucking thief.
I throw my phone down on the couch beside me. It bounces slightly, and the screen still aglow with the nauseating post. Mocking me. Every part of me wants to scream, to throw something more substantial than a harmless pillow against the wall. They didn’t just betray me—they’re angling to take my career, too.
LL is my brainchild, my designs, my . . . I grab my phone again and take a screenshot, emailing my lawyer, who’s supposedly working on my case. He swears it’s going to be okay. They can’t claim this is their business when I have proof that all Theo did for me was work weekends and a few nights to help me—and I paid him a salary.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart as the uncertainty of my future hangs over me like one of those overly dramatic rain clouds in a cartoon.
There’s absolutely no way I’m letting Theodoric Everett Standish—Theo to those who don’t want to waste five seconds of their life pronouncing his full name—waltz off with my designs or the business I’ve built from the ground up over the last four years. I’ve already compensated him for his time, which, by the way, was more of an educational internship than a partnership. He doesn’t deserve another dime from me.
I glare at my phone, seething. This doesn’t look like him walking away peacefully. It’s more like a “screw you, Lavender Imogen Wilde, and good riddance to your so-called future.” I feel a lump in my throat threatening to evolve into a full-blown sob fest, but I force it down. Tears? No, thank you. I refuse to cry over someone who once asked me if the overhead lights in our studio were solar-powered.
Seriously, who does he think he is? I practically taught him everything he knows about bespoke lighting design. Okay, maybe not everything—nobody’s perfect—but close enough.
The phone buzzes, jolting me from my spiral of doom and gloom. I snatch it up, my heart doing that annoying skip-a-beat thing when I see Ruby’s name flashing on the caller ID. My sister has this uncanny sibling Spidey-sense. She always calls at just the right—or wrong—moment.
“Did you see it?” she blurts out before I can even manage a hello. Trust Ruby to cut right to the chase.
“Saw it, hated it,” I manage to say, my voice wobbling just a tad. I inhale sharply, trying to sound more outraged than crushed.
The audacity of this man. How can he think he can take my company right from under me?” I start pacing, my steps thumping heavily on the floor. At this rate, I’m a stomp away from getting a noise complaint courtesy of the neighbor below.
“You need to calm down while we figure out how to stop this nonsense. He won’t be able to take your business away from you without a fight,” Ruby assures me over the phone.
“I live in a city filled with anxiety. This is my livelihood. Pray tell . . . How can I relax?” I ask, my free hand gesticulating wildly in the air as if she could see my exasperation.
“Maybe you should go home to Kentbury for a bit. Take the time to reset and reevaluate the direction you want to take in your life and business. It’s peaceful, it’s summer, the lake’s warm. Even when Mom and Dad are off gallivanting in Madrid, I’m sure they’ll be okay if you go there for a few weeks—or months. You loved it there. Plus, you’d have the lake house all to yourself,” she suggests, her tone light, almost teasing. As if I could throw a party and they’d never find out.
Kentbury. The mere mention of our small hometown, tucked away in the rolling hills of Vermont with its charming lake brimming with childhood memories, tugs at a part of me that’s been lying dormant. I close my eyes, remembering the carefree summers spent at the lake house, the laughter echoing across the water as we swam and played.